


Infuriating

by mansikka



Series: Too Far [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You knew I was experiencing a change in my... behaviour, towards you,” Cas began with, after what felt to Dean like an impossibly long period of silence.</p><p>Dean forced himself to maintain eye contact throughout Cas' statement, nodding, “I did.”</p><p>“You understand now, as you understood then, that this... situation, was new for me. That what I was experiencing was... difficult, for me. Both to acknowledge, and to understand.”</p><p>Dean's lips set in a grim line as he nodded again, “I did. I do.”</p><p>“And you can appreciate. That emotions, of any kind. Are... confounding, for angels.”</p><p>Dean smiled without humour, and sighed out shakily. “Pretty confounding for humans too, Cas. But yeah, I do. I mean, I can imagine,”</p><p>“You cannot imagine. You are not an angel,” Cas barked back, scowling over at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infuriating

Dean had developed a twisted skillset of torture over the years, thinking himself very well versed in all its nuances. The giving of torture was easy; give in, to your most primal, basal of instincts, that part of yourself that was distinctively vindictive, and everything else just fell away.

The receiving of it was pretty simple as well; close yourself off, invent entire other worlds to live in within your head whilst your body bruised, burned and broke at someone else's touch.

Untouchable, really. That's how Dean had felt, or had convinced himself he was, when it came to the art that was torture.

And then of course, there was Cas. Because Cas meant a whole new kind of torture.

There had been so many times Dean had been intentionally cruel to Cas, when it was easier to lash out than reach out, as he really wanted to do. So many times, when Dean had taken Cas for granted, and treated him as nothing more than a disposable, disappointing dilemma, that caused more problems than he helped with. When that was so very far from true.

The difference with this kind of torture that was  _ Cas _ , was that for every wound he inflicted, Dean felt it back double. Strike one for the look on Cas' face and the knowledge that he was really hurting him. And strike two, the wallowing in guilt that lingered and taunted him, long after he'd pushed Cas away.

The other difference with this kind of torture was that despite wanting to shrink back from the anger and rage that Cas sent his way, and to fire back his own angry words that were both meant and not meant, Dean had to square his shoulders and take it. Because unlike so much of what he'd experienced in the past, this torture, Dean had earned. Every last word of it.

“You knew I was experiencing a change in my... behaviour, towards you,” Cas began with, after what felt to Dean like an impossibly long period of silence.

Dean forced himself to maintain eye contact throughout Cas' statement, nodding, “I did.”

“You understand now, as you understood then, that this... situation, was new for me. That what I was experiencing was... difficult, for me. Both to acknowledge, and to understand.”

Dean's lips set in a grim line as he nodded again, “I did. I do.”

“And you can appreciate. That emotions, of any kind. Are... confounding, for angels.”

Dean smiled without humour, and sighed out shakily. “Pretty confounding for humans too, Cas. But yeah, I do. I mean, I can imagine,”

“You cannot imagine. You are not an angel,” Cas barked back, scowling over at him.

Dean swallowed thickly and pressed back a little harder in his chair, watching as Cas' jaw clenched in fury before his head fell back with a soft groan against the top of the headboard of Dean's bed.

“It is... abhorrent. To be so... distracted, and tainted by... things that are beyond my control. It is also infuriating,” Cas added with a heavy sigh as he looked back up, “To know that my words are causing you discomfort, and to feel guilt for that.”

“No need to feel guilty for that, Cas,” Dean mumbled, studying his hands as he slotted his fingers together across his lap. “Not like I don't deserve any of it.”

Cas rolled his eyes and let his head fall back again. “That you are so accepting of my anger towards you does not actually help.”

Dean shrugged, more to himself than to Cas. “Tell me what I can do to help and I'll do it. Anything you need.”

Dean watched Cas' face intently as he waited for his response.

Cas kept his eyes closed as he said, “That is also a problem. Since this is the third time in as many days that I have come here to try to talk to you. And the third time that I am somehow lost for the words I need to say.”

Dean was lost for anything to say back to him, because it was true; the first time Cas had shown up in his room was when he'd passed out with the effort of getting there, and barely a word had come out of his mouth.

The second time, aside from Cas' accusations of Dean using him and belittling him at every opportunity to cover up his own confusion, there had been little else Cas could manage to say before sleep took over him yet again.

Dean wondered how long it would be this time before the same thing would happen, and half-wished it was sooner rather than later. Then called himself a coward.

“Maybe... I don't know, Cas. Would it help if I explained myself? Like... my side of things? I mean... I'm not looking for an easy out here,” he said hastily as Cas slowly raised his head again and raised one very shrewd eyebrow in his direction. “But. Maybe if I can tell you where I'm coming from. I don't know. Maybe it'll help?”

“We could try.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed, wondering where the hell he was supposed to start. “Feel free to interrupt. At any point. And... you know. Bear with me, okay? This talking thing's not exactly my strong point,”

“I am aware,” Cas confirmed dully, doing nothing to encourage Dean to start, but knowing he would force himself anyway. He knew that look of determination in Dean very well. He knew  _ Dean _ very well, which was half of the problem.

“Okay,” Dean said, again to himself, and nervously wiped his palms down his jean legs a couple of times. “So. Back. A while ago now. And I mean. A  _ while _ ago. I realised. That maybe... no  _ maybe _ at all, really. I realised... I felt. I  _ feel _ ,” he corrected, with a nervous glance at Cas, “things. For you.  _ About _ you. That... that I didn't really know what to do with.”

“What 'things'?”

Dean wanted to close his eyes, to get up and pace, to do anything but try and verbalise that. But he would. He would try, because Cas deserved it, and it was time to stop running from it anyway. “Like. Attraction. Affection. I... care about you, Cas. I know I've done a lot to make you think that isn't the case, but. I do.”

For a moment the air between them was charged with silence, surprise, and a lot of tension. The chair that Dean had strategically placed far enough from the bed to give Cas space, but near enough so that this dreaded conversation would be manageable, felt like it might fold into itself under him with the weight of Cas' stare back at him.

“And,” Dean pressed on, pushing through how very painful it was to keep talking, “Because I didn't know how to deal with it – with any of it. I struck out at you. I said... so many things I didn't mean, Cas. So many of 'em. Pretty much all of 'em, in fact. You... you've gotta know how important you are to me. To us,”

Cas gave a small nod, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Dean's.

“Sam's been... Sam's been so pissed at me for the way I've treated you. I... whatever I've done to make you feel like you're not welcome? It's all on me. I did that. None of it was Sam. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Cas agreed softly, and there was the slightest softening in his expression at the mention of Sam, which Dean felt relief for seeing.

“And... all of it. As shitty as this is gonna sound. All of it was because I was so messed up... confused... about what I was feeling. So I just kept pushing you away. Even though you going anywhere was the last thing I wanted.”

Dean let out a ragged breath at the honesty of his own confession, fearing yet desperate to hear what Cas would think about hearing it.

Cas continued staring back in silence, telling Dean quite clearly that he expected more from him.

Dean clenched his hands, and nodded, forcing himself to continue.

“So. Uh... I. I was kind of... conflicted. I mean... I think you probably saw – a few times,” Dean swallowed his embarrassment and felt his cheeks blaze at the thought of the words he was about to say, “I mean. In... prayers... I guess you noticed that sometimes I let myself think about you... in ways that... were anything but... um. Pure,” he stammered out in a blast at the end of his sentence.

Cas' lips flickered with the very hint of a smile. “More than a few times,”

Dean nodded, fighting back the urge to drop his head into his hands and hide. “Right. So... you knew that. And I kind of... I thought maybe you knew that I knew that... you'd hear...  _ that _ . And that... and that when you were around, I was kind of... I was kind of...”

“Acerbic? Unpleasant? Demeaning?” Cas finished for him coolly, with Dean wincing more with every word.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “All those things. And more. And I hated myself, every single time. Couldn't seem to stop myself though. I... I don't know what my problem is,”

“I think that you do,” Cas disagreed, equally quietly, and if his stare could have got any more intense it would have crushed Dean where he sat.

Dean nodded back sadly in agreement once again, and exhaled, long, and slow. “I. I couldn't deal with what I was feeling. I'm not used to... it's rare that I've... I mean. I'm not sure I've ever..  _ cared _ like this before. About anyone,” he admitted softly, noticing the tiniest wave of emotion cross Cas' face before he got a hold on it again. “So I struck out at you. And even though I could've just... made myself talk to you. About... all of it. It was easier to just keep lashing out.”

“That is only partially true also,” Cas interrupted, shaking his head very slightly.

“Uh...” Dean's voice trailed away uncertainly, and he shook his head back, feeling a little clueless.

“You have such self-loathing that you would deny yourself anything  _ for _ yourself, if it was important to you,” Cas told him with a lot of bitterness in his voice. “You take small things... alcohol. Sex. Fights when you are frustrated with situations you cannot handle. Anything to keep up this facade you insist on hiding behind to demonstrate that you are your father's son, and that you are 'okay'. But you never let yourself have the things that matter most to you. Your life is nothing but keeping Sam safe and carrying out your father's bidding. The real  _ you _ is trapped behind your fears and expectations of yourself.”

Dean wanted, so badly, to deny everything Cas was saying to him. To retaliate with observations about how Cas spent all of  _ his _ existence doing his own father's bidding as well, and so had no room to criticise him about that. Dean fought, so hard, for an argument where Cas was wrong, and to be able to say that he took what he wanted from life as and when he wanted it, that it was all entirely on his terms. But not one argument stuck, or rang true.

When the staring and the truth became unbearable, Dean dropped his gaze. “Guess I figured. In a really,  _ really _ messed up way. That maybe you'd... maybe you'd hear what I really meant when I prayed to you. And know how I was when you were here wasn't what I really... wasn't how I wanted to be.”

“You can appreciate my confusion, Dean,” was all that Cas could offer, and Dean nodded without looking up, to show that he did.

After yet more silence, Dean raised his head, and Cas almost wanted to reach out and comfort him when he took in the sadness he saw there on Dean's face.

“I am... beyond sorry, Cas. I should never have treated you like you were nothing more than a resource to us. I should never have... yanked your chain, when it came to how I felt about you. And how I kind of suspected you felt about me back. I... can't even begin to think how hard all this has been for you.”

Cas closed his eyes, letting his tired head fall back once again, leaving Dean to stare at him.

“You know, Dean. One of the most frustrating parts of my anger towards you right now is that I understand. And that... before today, you would only express yourself so clearly to me... only in prayers, when I was gone. And it was also... difficult, for me, to see the way you were suffering too. It felt as though you were constantly trying to get my attention, and call me back, though you never really knew what you would do were I to return.”

“Yeah, well, guess we already figured out I'm pretty selfish like that,” Dean bit out, feeling his own anger at himself spiking up repeatedly.

“We did,”

Cas' confirmation of Dean's own words were like a punch to the gut, but Dean took it, because he knew he had to.

“When you,” Cas began, frowning to himself. “When you cared for me. When I felt your concern-”

“I'd do all of it again, Cas. Any of it,” Dean told him without hesitation, though hoping he'd never have to see Cas suffering like that again. But also knowing that if Cas let him, he'd care for him over and over, any time it was needed.

“I know,” Cas agreed. “But it was still a surprise. After everything.”

“I don't know how to make it up to you, Cas. Honestly I don't. If you could... if you tell me-”

“And when you kept... touching me. And kissing me,” Cas said, rolling his lip into his mouth as though he was feeling that in that very second. “And I couldn't do anything about it. Or ask you why you were doing it. I felt...”

Cas continued to struggle for the right word, but Dean already had one in mind, and felt sick, and disgusted with himself.

“Violated.”

The broken, choked out way Dean spoke it seemed to echo around the room, leaving nothing but awkwardness behind in its path.

“I'm so sorry about that, Cas. I... I can't say anything in my defence. But I'm so...  _ so _ sorry,” Dean fought to get his apology out around the thickening of his throat where he struggled to hold back a sob. He felt his eyes pricking with tears, not actually caring if they fell, and stared back at Cas resolutely, waiting for his judgement.

“I did not feel 'violated', Dean,”

Dean's eyes widened, and he shook his head in disbelief. “'course you did. I-”

“Do not tell me what I was, or was not feeling, Dean,” Cas told him sternly, glaring back. “If I felt violated then I would be telling you that that was how I felt. I did not feel that.”

“Then... what did you feel?” Dean mumbled, his voice small and broken.

“I was furious that you would do something that I am certain you already knew I wanted to have happen between us... and that yet again you would do it when I wasn't 'there' to respond. As you did with your prayers, when you repeatedly told me how you felt when I was gone. You keep  _ toying _ with me, Dean. I am an  _ angel _ . It is... infuriating that you have the ability to affect me so deeply.”

“I could... I could promise I'll never do that again,” Dean tried, knowing his voice came out weak.

“You  _ will _ never do that again,” Cas corrected him with a look that had Dean shrinking back from him once more.

“I won't,” Dean said quickly, shaking his head.

Cas continued to study him thoughtfully, then nodded, once, before the yawn that had been threatening finally took over.

“You need to sleep some more?” Dean asked gently, smiling a little as Cas groaned.

“It is all I seem to do,” Cas grumbled, shifting himself unthinkingly until he was on his back and on Dean's pillow. Dean's eyes widened to see him doing it but said nothing.

“Not true. You eat sometimes as well,” Dean said, trying to make a joke. He was rewarded with a thin smile, and a wave of a hand that said Cas agreed with Dean's observation.

Dean wanted to ask  _ what now _ ? He wanted to ask for forgiveness. He wanted to get in the Impala and drive until there was nothing but emptiness all around him. To drive away from  _ himself _ .

Instead, all he did was watch as Cas unceremoniously fell asleep.

***

Dean continued staring as Cas slept, through hunger, and thirst, and stiffness of limbs. He waited, although he wasn't really what sure what for at this stage. They might have managed to get out some of the difficult words that they needed to say, but this was nowhere near resolved between them yet. And there was certainly no quick fix available either.

The only thing that dragged his gaze away from Cas and over to the door was the arrival of Sam, peering in as though he wasn't sure he should interrupt. Dean tilted his head to tell him to come in, and Sam walked towards him as soundlessly as possible, eyes flickering over Cas where he laid.

“How's he doing?” Sam asked softly, keeping his voice low.

“He's... you know. Sleeping. Managed to get a few words out before he passed out this time.”

“Like?”

Dean hesitated for a moment, debated telling Sam it was nothing but trivial, meaningless stuff, then shook his head.

“Like... stuff about us. Me and him,”

Sam's face showed a wave of different reactions to his words, but he held it in, and just nodded instead. “Good.”

Sam stayed silent as Dean's gaze drifted back to Cas, and let him watch for a few more minutes before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Look. I know... I-” and his own eyes flew over to Cas for a moment, before he forced them back, frowning.

“What?”

“I just got a call.”

Dean looked up at him, his face blank, but Sam took in the slight clench of his jaw. “Got a case? I... I'm not leaving him like this, Sam. Whatever it is'll have to wait.”

“It kind of involves him,”

Sam's answer drew a deep, mistrustful frown across Dean's expression, and Dean nodded, waiting for him to continue.

Sam stared back for a moment then let his own eyes drop to the paper he had folded up in his hand. “Hunter. Out in Ohio – new guy, not heard from him before. Says he's a friend of Rufus'.”

“What's the deal?”

Sam's own brow dipped into a heavier frown and he chewed down on his lip, glancing back over at Cas.

“Sam,” Dean prompted, feeling uneasy at the way Sam's words couldn't find their way out.

“It's... so. He found a woman. Or... he thought he found a demon. Did the usual – holy water, silver, - nothing. Figured out eventually – and I get the impression that he was a little... forceful, in his, uh... discovery?”

“What's that mean?” Dean demanded, scowling up at him.

Sam swallowed thickly, showing his distaste. “I- sounds like he might've hit her a few times,” he admitted, grimacing as he did.

“And she didn't fight back?”

Sam shook his head, raising his eyes to look at Dean.

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Not a demon?”

“He thinks she's an angel.”

“Then... how come she didn't just smite his ass?”

“Dean,” Sam's tone shifted, and Dean recognised it instantly as one that meant trouble. “She's... out. Like... no one's at home. Staring, unmoving, unresponsive... like a coma. With a huge healed-over wound on her back that's got a thick black scar running right through it,” he said, reading his own handwriting from the crumpled page in his hand.

Dean sucked in a breath, his eyes flying back immediately to Cas. “Like Cas was?”

“Yeah, Dean. Sounds exactly like Cas was.”

  
  
  



End file.
